


love's austere and lonely offices

by jan



Category: Matantei Loki Ragnarok | Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jan/pseuds/jan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title is from <span class="u">Those Winter Sundays</span>, by Robert Hayden.</p></blockquote>





	love's austere and lonely offices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerfidiousFate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiousFate/gifts).



It was an unremarkable afternoon in their particular corner of Midgard. A pleasant and sunny sort of unremarkable afternoon, admittedly.

Loki said as much, from his usual place behind the desk.

"Yes, Master Loki," Yamino replied absently. His attention was on a particularly stubborn scuff mark on the mantelpiece, which refused to yield to polishing.

"Clear-skied. Not too hot. Good weather for flying. If only I could be a falcon again..."

Fenrir, who had been dozing on the carpet, perked up. "Was that back when you could transform, Daddy? What else, what else?"

"Oh, the usual. Seals. Horses." Loki seemed to wince a little at the memory, and hurried on: "A gadfly, once -- that wasn't very pleasant. No, my favourite was probably the falcon. Not the best circumstances, but an excellent view."

His reminiscence was interrupted by a loud crunching sound from downstairs, one which suggested splintered wood and perhaps some broken hinges.

"Ah," Loki said, taking a fortifying sip of tea. "Narugami again."

The cause of destruction clattered up the stairs and flung open the study door, which creaked on its hinges but held. Yamino tried not to wince.

"You could just knock, you know," Loki said by way of greeting. "You were doing quite well at one stage."

"Hah! I'm not giving in to your celebration of indolence, Loki! Besides, it's easier than waiting for Four-Eyes here to open the door." Narugami paused long enough to eat a cookie from the plate that lay on Loki's desk, then waved Mjollnir at Loki in a vaguely exhorting manner. "I'm here because Midgard begs for exploration, and you should get out more! Also because I've got a new part-time job in a cafe, and they need more customers."

Loki sighed, but allowed himself to be propelled out of the study, despite a growling Fenrir's best efforts to chase Narugami away. "I'll leave things to you," he called over his shoulder to Yamino.

Yamino smiled bravely in reply, added 'get front door repaired' to his mental to-do list, and listened as the two gods headed downstairs and out of the house. As he watched Fenrir settling back down on the carpet, he had to admit that Narugami had a point. It might be good for Loki to leave the mansion more often, for purposes less serious than the solving of mysteries or the apprehending of murderers. It might be good for all of them to do so. They could make a day of it: take a train into the countryside, maybe. Tour one of Midgard's shopping arcades. Or have a picnic -- in a park or garden, or even by the sea.

Later in the afternoon, Yamino had already drawn up several quite detailed plans, many involving catering arrangements, when there was the sound of someone testing the makeshift front door that he had rigged up.

He hurried down the stairs in time to see the door -- a large cardboard box from one of his more ambitious mail-order purchases -- being folded up and set aside. 

"Are you here about a case?" Yamino ventured. "Master Loki isn't in at the moment, I'm afraid..."

The intruder was tall, grey-haired despite an otherwise youthful appearance, with a bag slung across his broad shoulders. He regarded Yamino for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Then he seemed to reach some sort of conclusion, and bared his teeth in what was theoretically a grin.

"I'll come again tomorrow," he said. "No need to tell him that I came."

 

* * *

 

The grey-haired man came again the next day, and the next, and the next. Loki was always somewhere else: accompanying Mayura in the pursuit of yet another mysterious mystery, or out on a walk with Fenrir, or off with Narugami again. Yamino hadn't taken the visitor's suggestion; he'd told Loki about the visits, with increasing disquiet as the days wore on, but Loki seemed unconcerned.

"I can't blame these mortals for wanting help," he said. "And if it were serious enough, I'm sure the good Inspector Niiyama would have shown up by now."

On the fifth day, the visitor said: "That's fine. I'll wait."

"No," Yamino said, one hand on the doorframe, defensive smile firmly in place. "I don't think you will."

The grey-haired man looked at him, and Yamino had the distinct and unpleasant sensation of being appraised. But whatever the test, he must have passed, for the man stepped back. He gave Yamino a thin-lipped smile, somewhere between pity and condescension. "This Loki of yours... He's not very good at being around, is he?"

Yamino had no reply, or at least none that would be both tactful and true. He smiled politely, instead, and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the visitor finally arrived at the right time.

Yamino wasn't entirely sure if he felt relieved. As he led the man to the study, all the way upstairs, he had to fight the urge to keep checking over his shoulder.

"Ah," the visitor said, strolling into the room as if it were his own. "Here you are, at last."

Fenrir got to his feet, growling instinctively. The expressions that crossed Loki's face were hard to pin down: bewilderment, suspicion, something like recognition, and then -- if Yamino hadn't known Loki better than that -- what might even have been fear.

Loki stood abruptly, reached for Lævateinn where it leant against the side of the desk. "Get away from him, Yamino."

Yamino complied, edging around the visitor and towards his father.

The grey-haired man laughed. "That's not much of a welcome, Loki."

"Sleipnir," Loki said. "I'd expected better of Odin. Sending someone's son--"

"I'm not your son," Sleipnir snapped, his smugness dissipating. But Yamino was no longer listening. He'd never heard of another sibling. Neither had Fenrir, apparently, who muttered -- all puppyish pretence gone -- "Who is this, Father?"

"It was a long time ago," Loki said quietly, not looking away from Sleipnir. "Before I knew your mother."

"Save the stories for your daughter," Sleipnir said, reaching into his bag. And then there was a dagger in his hand: slim and elegant and decidedly from another of the nine worlds.

Fenrir started forward, growling, and for a moment his small form blurred around the edges, becoming something larger, sharp-fanged, wolfish. Yamino stepped up beside him, hands curling into fists; licked his lips distractedly, mouth suddenly dry. Something was beginning to unfurl within him, old and cold and hungry, something that remembered concepts such as _prey_ \--

And then there was Loki's hand on his wrist, soft warm skin against skin, and Jormungandr blinked and swallowed and remembered who he was now.

"Stop," Loki said, and there was a tension that Yamino had never heard before in his voice. "Fenrir, you too. Brothers shouldn't have to face each other like this. Odin should never have--"

" _Lord_ Odin isn't to blame," Sleipnir said hotly. "I came here of my own accord, Lord Odin knows nothing--"

At that, Loki gave a strange, crooked smile. "So he didn't put you up to it. I'm glad. I'd always thought you would be happier with him. If you weren't my... if you weren't associated with me."

Yamino glanced back, confused, but Loki was still holding Sleipnir's gaze.

"Go home," Loki said, in a voice too steady for true calm.

Sleipnir laughed, high and sharp, and lunged.

He moved too fast for Yamino or Fenrir to stop him. The blade flashed in the air, and in that instant Sleipnir's human form seemed to turn into something larger, something that reared up wildly, brought its immense hooves down -- and then Loki raised Lævateinn above his head, speaking a language Yamino dimly remembered the texture of, and the light blotted out everything else.

The dagger clattered to the floor.

When the burst of light faded, Sleipnir was in a different form. Not the huge, eight-legged beast whose shape had flickered on the edge of vision, but a ordinary grey pony, short enough for a child to reach up and pat. And there Loki was, small hands curled deep into Sleipnir's mane, face pressed against the side of the pony's neck.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Yamino was suddenly glad that he could not see his father's face. "But you don't have to do this; you never had to. You're more important to-- to Odin than this."

Sleipnir whinnied, tossed his head, but Loki held on.

"Go home," he said again. "He'd want you to."

Yamino looked away, chest suddenly tight. His gaze fell on Lævateinn instead. The magical staff lay discarded on the floor, still glowing gently, and as Yamino watched it pulsed with light once, twice; Loki whispered something, and this time when the light flared again, Sleipnir did disappear.

Loki raised a hand to his cheek, absently, and wiped the blood from the shallow cut. The three of them watched until the last sparks went out.

"Back to Asgard," Loki said, almost to himself.

He knelt down to pat Fenrir. On another occasion the Fenris wolf might have resumed his puppyish cockiness, with a shout of _You're safe now, Daddy!_ or _He's never coming back!_ But this time he just whined, and nuzzled the palm of Loki's hand.

"Thank you, Fenrir, Yamino. You were both very brave." And then he looked up, finally, and gave Yamino a tired smile. "But now I think... I'd like to be alone for a while."

 

* * *

 

Loki didn't explain. Yamino didn't ask, and -- surprisingly -- neither did Fenrir. And so life, of a sort, went on.

The days were filled with the same distractions as before, and Yamino was grateful for all of them. Narugami dropped by, uninvited, for tea or more substantial meals. Mayura showed up regularly, rambled on cheerfully about some trivial thing or another, dragged Loki out of the house in pursuit of mysteries that had no touch of the Aesir about them. Even Koutarou came by once, on the pretext that he was just passing by; Loki's brief smile at that excuse was the most genuine one Yamino had seen in days.

So it was easy to... not forget, exactly, but to gain some distance. And if Loki was sometimes subdued, or stared out of the window more than before, well, Yamino didn't comment. There was little trace of what had happened, nothing that could be called an aftermath.

The only exception came one late afternoon, a week later, when Loki was taking tea in his study while Yamino dusted the bookshelves. Fenrir was downstairs, and perhaps his absence was why Loki allowed himself to gaze moodily into his cup, swirling the tea as if to read the future in its dregs.

"Yamino," he said at last, voice oddly tentative. "Have you ever wished that--"

"Master Loki."

Loki looked up, startled at the uncharacteristic interruption.

Yamino wasn't sure what the smile on his face looked like, in that moment. He hoped it was convincing. Loki seemed ready to speak again, with a question Yamino didn't want to hear, so he pressed on: "We're happy here, if you are."

A platitude. It couldn't possibly have sufficed. But after a pause, Loki nodded; returned a not-quite-smile of his own.

"Thank you," he said.

And that was that.

 

* * *

 

Eventually they went down to the sea together, the three of them, one sunny Midgard afternoon. It was the tail end of summer, and the wind whipping their picnic mat about was colder than it could have been, but they laid the chequered square of cloth down anyway. Which is to say that Yamino and Loki did so, while Fenrir tore across the deserted beach, barking at the stray gulls and the ragged surf and nothing in particular.

The mat was a bit too large for three, Yamino realised as he set the picnic up: Loki seated at one end, the picnic basket weighing down the far corner, Yamino trying to provide ballast as he laid out the plate. It turned out that the juice hadn't been kept quite cold enough, and Yamino was sure that some grit had found its way into the sandwiches they packed, and when Fenrir returned he tracked damp sand across half the mat and got saltwater onto a slice of cake.

But their father just laughed, and patted Fenrir indulgently on the head, and ate the sandwiches anyway.

When the wind had died down enough for the picnic mat to be out of danger, and the other two were occupied with a lazy game of fetch, Yamino walked down to the water's edge. There was something comforting about the waves, seen from the surface.

He remembered the sea, yes: the cold that turned easily into just another sort of emptiness, a vastness with no point of reference but the distant promise of light. And he knew there were people missing from this happy family scene, their absence so natural that Yamino knew no alternative; and their time here was temporary, as everything on Midgard must be.

And yet here they were, the three of them, in a corner of the nine worlds that they could call their own. A place in the sun.

"Yamino?"

He turned, startled. Loki had come up behind him, with a faintly worried look on his face. "Is everything okay?"

Yamino looked down at his father: the serious green eyes, the still-healing cut on his cheek. "Master Loki."

"Yes?"

"I'm very glad to be here."

There was a flicker of surprise on Loki's face, just for a moment. And then he smiled, and said, "I know."

Yamino smiled back.

His father's hand was small in his own, and the sand warm under Yamino's soft, human feet, as they walked back up along the shore together.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Those Winter Sundays, by Robert Hayden.


End file.
